parting ways with ahsoka had left rex feeling decidedly more aimless than he’d ever been, and much more than he’d like to be. he’s never been much of a pilot, but he doesn’t have much of a choice - his junkyard ship has become the closest thing to home that rex has left. he’s set up something of a base in the outer rim, in a shipyard where he’s not likely to be discovered. his armour stays tucked away - it’s better that way. he still goes through the motions of cleaning his blasters, despite their lack of use, and spot-checks his helmet every day. old habits die hard. rex has never been good at remaining idle. inactivity settles into his bones and stiffens his already weary and aching joints. his shoulder never did heal right. he’s not made for a life like this - quiet, dull, and so heartbreakingly lonely.
he’s descending the ramp of his ship, cloak tied around his neck and empty pack slung about his shoulders, intent on heading into the market to pick up a few odds and ends ( perhaps a new book - he’s taken an interest in mystery novels lately, whoever had owned the ship before him had left an arsenal of them on board ) when he spots the hooded figure standing below him. hand instinctively comes to rest upon the blaster holstered on his hip before he spots the way the sun reflects off of the individual’s face, the familiar markings painted upon beskar, and he’s certain his knees are going to buckle. there’s a strange rushing sound in his ears and he almost staggers, hand flying up to catch himself on the metal frame of the ship’s hull. he would know her at the end of the galaxy itself. “ bo-katan. ”
@sabcrlost - can’t wait to cry.
